Two days after the first task, Hermione heard the familiar rush of hundreds of owls descending upon the Great Hall, as they always did at breakfast, and felt a bit of trepidation.
It only grew when she saw the front page of the Daily Prophet, featuring a large photo of Harry diving away from the dragon and a headline that read "Danger at the Triwizard Tournament." It was by Rita Skeeter.
She groaned as she unfolded it to read.
Witches and wizards all over the country were quaking in fear for Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, when they learned he had been named Hogwarts' Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, despite only being a fourth-year student (well below the eligibility age. This, of course, calls into question just how secure Albus Dumbledore's safety measures could possibly be if a fourteen-year-old boy was able to get past the very first one).
But our readers needn't have feared, for our tragic hero did the parents he so desperately misses and wishes to impress proud with his daring theatrics against a Hungarian Horntail, tying for first place with Durmstrang Champion Viktor Krum. Though Krum is the internationally well-known Quidditch seeker, it was Harry Potter who dodged and weaved on his Firebolt, delighting the crowds.
But sadly, this reporter has found, it's not the dragons that the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named should have feared: No, a more sinister threat lurks about Harry Potter.
While Albus Dumbledore is known for his interesting and controversial teaching posts, last year, the wizarding world was scandalized to learn he had employed werewolf Remus Lupin as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. (One has to wonder if this dangerous magical creature was teaching his students more than just defense.)
As one Hogwarts student put it, "The bar isn't set high; the bar is basically on the floor" when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts professors.
When parents found out, outraged at the prospect that this creature—which has a XXXXX Ministry of Magic classification—had access to their children, he was immediately sacked but not before, a high-ranking Ministry official tells me, he neglected to take the potion that tempers werewolves' lethal tendencies, running around the school grounds during a full moon, where he could have killed any number of students who wandered off in the wrong direction. (Whether or not this neglect was a callous disregard for the safety of Hogwarts students, the inept actions of an unqualified man or a blatant and insidious attempt to attack wizarding children is anyone's guess.)
In fact, according to the Ministry official, the Boy Who Lived had a very near miss with the werewolf that very night.
Despite the cover up of this outrageous incident, one would think Lupin wouldn't ever be allowed on Hogwarts grounds again. But not only was he at Hogwarts this past Tuesday, watching the first task, but the faculty of Hogwarts, in their infinite wisdom, allowed the werewolf to have unrestricted access to Harry Potter, leaving them alone together.
According to several Hogwarts students, the Boy Who Lived and Lupin had developed a special friendship of sorts, spending time together doing extra lessons during the werewolf's tenure at Hogwarts.
And certainly, the hold still remains as Lupin was seen forcibly grabbing Harry Potter and dragging him off to parts unknown after the first task—but for what purpose is unclear. One thing is certain though: Albus Dumbledore is not doing enough to protect The Boy Who Lived.
"That vile, despicable woman!" Hermione muttered. Harry looked up at her over his porridge.
"What?" he asked. She handed over her copy of the Daily Prophet and waited for him to read it. All around her, she saw other students reacting to the story. The Slytherins looked smug—Draco Malfoy was reading it aloud—while Dean Thomas was shaking his fist. At the other end of the Gryffindor table, Angelina Johnson passed her copy off to Ron with a look of disgust on her face, while his face grew more livid the further he read.
Harry had gone silent as he handed it off to Neville to read.
"She has to be stopped," he fumed.
"She's a menace," Hermione agreed, her mouth twisting into a frown. Harry's face mirrored her emotions, his lips drawn and tight, but his eyes as fired up as she'd ever seen them.
"She's not even supposed to be on the grounds," Harry said. "Remus told me Professor Dumbledore banned her from Hogwarts."
"After the way she twisted your words around, I should hope so," Hermione said. "But clearly it's not working."
"There's one thing I don't get though."
"What?" Neville asked, looking up from the paper.
"That bit about the bar; Seamus said it," Harry said, frowning. Hermione and Neville looked at him, outraged.
"He didn't mean it like that," Harry said quickly. "He was making a joke about Quirrell and Lockhart. But no one was around. It was just the three of us and Dean standing on the grass. There's no way she could've been close enough to hear."
"Maybe one of them told her?" Hermione suggested, but a quick talk with Seamus and Dean ruled that out.
"Hmmm," she thought, wheels turning, as they ran up to the owlery to write a letter of commiseration to Lupin. Something was definitely off.
December was almost upon them, and the air outside had turned more blustery than usual. Luckily, it was warm and cozy in the library, where Harry, Hermione and Neville spent most of their time. Hermione usually taught Neville the basics of antidotes—something she thought Harry should probably take note of, given how little he had paid attention to classes during the lead up to the first task—while Harry sifted through book after book on magical languages.
She'd been pleased to learn Remus had given them a clue and, in her spare time, had thrown herself into researching that, too.
But today she was alone. Harry said he preferred to study in the common room this time—though she suspected that was because he got nervous watching Viktor Krum doing his own research for the second task—and Neville was working on his star charts for Divination with Parvati and Lavender.
She was enjoying the silence, the crisp feel of the page, the smell of old books, when she felt the familiar footfalls of Viktor Krum behind her. She sighed.
Soon the fan club would be here.
To her shock, Krum sat down at her table. She eyed him curiously.
"Hello," he said, his voice sounding a bit thick, like he was not used to using it.
"Hello," she replied. Why on earth was he sitting here?
"Your friends are not here," he stated, looking around. "They are usually vith you."
Hermione looked around too, wondering when exactly a famous quidditch star started keeping tabs on her and her friends.
"Er, no," she replied. What on earth did he want? He still didn't say anything, but remained in the chair, staring at her. "Can I help you with something?"
"You come to the library a lot," he stated.
"So do you," she replied, her face darkening a bit as she said, "so does your fan club."
To her surprise, he blushed and his face lost some of its surliness. "Yes, vell, I hope you do not hold it against me," he said. "It is an unfortunate consequence of fame."
He said the last word with a hint of distaste, like it somehow offended him.
He looked sad, and Hermione felt remorseful. How often had Harry complained about his notoriety? Maybe Viktor Krum really did just want to go to the library and be left alone by the masses. Chastened, she thought of something conciliatory to ask him.
"How are you liking Hogwarts?" she asked.
"Very much," he nodded. "Ve have a castle too, but yours is much varmer, homier. Your library is vonderful."
"Isn't it?" she gushed, feeling a certain amount of appreciation for anyone who valued the library. She grinned at him, and if she wasn't mistaken—but this couldn't possibly be right—he blushed even more.
And then he asked her about her life. What were her favorite subjects in school—they both enjoyed Arithmancy and Transfiguration, but he liked Potions the best, and he had a wealth of knowledge on the Grindelwald era of history that she found fascinating. What were her parents like—he had never heard of dentists before, as most of the wizarding world opted to just fix their teeth with magic, and was intrigued. Where were their favorite vacation spots—hers had been Greece, while his had been Japan. Did she like sports—she enjoyed going to quidditch matches, but that was owing mostly to her Gryffindor pride—and Harry, of course.
"You and Harry are close," Viktor commented.
"We've been friends since first year," she answered.
He did very vell in the first task," he said, "He flies vell. Not many his age could haff handled a dragon like that."
Hermione beamed proudly, but before she could reply, she heard a twitter from behind her. The fan club was back. She gave him a commiserating look, but bid him goodbye. She didn't mind a fellow library lover interrupting her sanctuary, but she would not stick around with those nitwits there.
Hagrid was mental, Hermione thought warily as she and Harry dodged the fire-blasting end of the skrewts during their next Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Most of the class was hiding in Hagrid's hut, but a few of them—mostly Gryffindors—had tried to stick it out to help Hagrid round them up, getting burns and cuts for their troubles.
"These are worse than the dragons," Harry muttered to Hermione, as he ducked a bit of fire. She conjured up a fire-freezing charm, thinking grimly that if Hagrid continued to teach skrewts, she'd have to go to the library to research fire protection potions. They were very advanced, but then again, so was polyjuice potion, and she'd done fine with that.
The class had finally managed to capture all but one skrewt when Hermione heard a shrill, smug voice behind her say, "Well, well, well… This does look like fun."
She and Harry turned, and her stomach dropped. It was Rita Skeeter.
Hermione looked around. She'd always thought the skrewts were suspect—they weren't in any book she could find—and she half feared that Hagrid had broken breeding laws to create them. The other half feared they'd been imported illegally. Either way, if Rita Skeeter found that out, Hagrid could be in big trouble.
And considering what she'd done to Professor Lupin based on a two-second conversation, she hated to think what Rita Skeeter could do to Hagrid.
Hagrid tackled the last of the skrewts—blasting the pumpkin plants nearby in the process—and to Hermione's dismay, walked over to Rita. Harry glanced at Hermione and she knew he was thinking what she was: This was a recipe for disaster.
Glowering, Harry strode toward them, Hermione at his heels. Her heart sank as she heard Hagrid arranging a time to meet Rita Skeeter at the Three Broomsticks for an interview.
"What are you doing here?" Harry called out. "You've been banned from the grounds."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She saw how the reporter took in the cuts and burns on the students and didn't like it—she knew exactly what kind of hit piece Rita Skeeter would write.
But Rita turned to Harry.
"Oh, hello, Harry," she trilled. "You're here, are you? Do you like this class?"
"Dumbledore banned you," he repeated.
"You're impeding on our magical education," Hermione added tartly. She heard Lavender mutter behind her, "Not such a huge loss this time," and wished she'd just shut up.
"Hermione's right. You should go," Harry said coldly. At her name, Rita turned to Hermione in interest.
"You're Hermione?" she asked skeptically, appraising Harry's supposed "stunningly pretty" girlfriend, and apparently finding her lacking.
"Lavender," Hermione called out, ignoring Rita Skeeter, "perhaps you should go get the Deputy Headmistress. It appears Hogwarts has a security problem." Lavender moved to leave, eager to escape the skrewts, but Rita Skeeter held up her hands.
"No need," she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "I was just leaving. I believe I've gotten everything I need."
Hermione did not like the sound of that at all. She turned to Hagrid, wringing her hands together.
"Hagrid," she pleaded, "please don't give that awful woman an interview. You saw what she did to Harry and Professor Lupin. Don't give her any ammunition against you."
Hagrid looked like he wanted to say that he thought it'd be all right—he tended to see the best in people—but hesitated at the looks on Harry and Hermione's faces.
"Isn't that why Dumbledore banned her?" Harry asked. "I doubt he'd want any of us giving interviews."
And that, it turns out, was the exact right thing to say. At the mention of Albus Dumbledore, Hagrid's entire demeanor changed.
"All righ'," he said. "I promise yeh."
Hermione's day improved considerably after lunch—following Fred's instructions she snuck down to the kitchens to speak with the house elves, and was shocked to find Dobby baking bread, happy to see a student, and even more delighted when he found out that student was a friend of Harry Potter's.
Grinning, Hermione ran back to Gryffindor Tower, intent on finding Harry. He'd be ecstatic to see Dobby, to know that he was well. After Winky had told them this summer that Dobby had had trouble finding work, they'd both been worried.
"Fairly lights," Hermione wheezed at the Fat Lady, who opened up the portrait hole. Hermione clambered in and looked around. Harry was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, Hermione."
Hermione turned to look at Ron, who was flipping through some quidditch magazine rather listlessly. They hadn't really talked since Ron refused to go to the first-aid tent with her after the first task.
"Hey," she replied, trying to catch her breath. "Have you seen Harry?"
Ron's face darkened, and he turned back to his magazine. Hermione sighed.
"Don't," she said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make faces because I say Harry's name," she said. "All you have to do is talk to him—"
"There's nothing to talk about," Ron said bitterly.
"Fine!" Hermione snapped. She looked around for Harry herself.
"What do you want him for anyway?" Ron asked grumpily.
Hermione grinned. "I've been down to the kitchens, and—"
"You what?" Ron asked sharply. "Is this that spew nonsense again? Hermione—"
"It's not Spew and it's not nonsense, Ron. But that's not the point—"
"Can't get any takers for Spew among wizards, so you decided to harangue the elves while they're working, then? Just give it a rest Hermione, no one cares about freeing house elves who are perfectly happy with their lives the way they are!"
"No one asked for your uneducated, inhumane opinion, Ron! I'll have you—"
"But they're not human," Ron pointed out, raising Hermione's ire.
"So what, that means they don't have feelings?" she retorted, annoyed that she had gotten sucked into this argument. All she was trying to do was reunite Dobby and Harry.
"House elves are happy the way they are—"
"Because they don't know any better," Hermione snapped. "And regardless, no one deserves to get physically abused because they set the forks on the wrong side of the plate. How would you feel if your mother banged your head against the oven every time you forgot to pick up your shoes?"
"That's completely different!"
"No, it's not!"
"What's going on?" a voice called from behind her.
Hermione whirled around. Neville and Harry were standing in the portrait hole, taking in their raised voices, red faces and defensive stances. Neville's eyes were narrowed and Harry's posture was restless, as if he were ready to pounce.
"Harry," she said breathlessly, forgetting all about Ron. "Come on! You've got to see this!" She strode toward them, grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back through the portrait hole, Neville right behind them.
"What is it?" Harry asked, as they ran at full speed, Neville struggling to catch up.
In no time at all, they were in front of the painting of a bowl of fruit.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Are we at the kitchens?"
"Yes," she grinned, excited. "Just wait until you see." She tickled the pear and the painting turned into a door. They entered and before Hermione could say a word, Dobby had bounded across the room, rocketing toward Harry for a hug.
Hermione saw Harry's face go from confusion to recognition to astonishment. "Dobby?"
It was an enlightening visit. Dobby updated Harry on his travels the past two years, how he'd found Winky and gotten them both jobs at Hogwarts, and told them what he was being paid—far too little in Hermione's opinion, but that had apparently been Dobby's choice, not Professor Dumbledore's.
He was happy being free, but seeing the way the rest of the house elves reacted to Dobby, Hermione could see Neville's point about S.P.E.W. They'd had a number of conversations about it since their talk in the Three Broomsticks, and Neville did have firsthand knowledge of house elves that she didn't. Observing the Hogwarts house elves, she understood why he thought forcing anything on them probably wouldn't work.
Even Dobby and Winky didn't seem particularly free. When Hermione noted that Mr. Crouch had acted horribly when he'd sacked Winky, she'd gone into a tizzy, screaming at Hermione not to insult her master. And Dobby, who had no love for the Malfoys, seemed unable to say an unkind word about them without trying to beat his head into the table. It was only Harry's quick reflexes that saved him from harm.
No, clearly some sort of reeducation plan was in order, in tandem with a solid set of laws to protect and regulate house-elf welfare—until she could figure out a way to get them to want freedom.
She had already come up with a number of ideas, a number of potential topics to research in the library. All in all, Hermione considered it a successful visit.
There was going to be a ball. Hermione knew it, of course, had read all about the Yule Ball in her research on the Triwizard Tournament. Plus, her school letter this summer had called for dress robes, and she and her mother had spent hours finding the perfect periwinkle blue dress. Hermione wasn't usually one for fashion, but these robes made her feel dainty, like a fairy—the fairies of muggle tales though, not the real, live fairies that were vain and quarrelsome.
She had known there would be a ball for months, but now it was December and people were talking all about it. Parvati and Lavender spent most nights up in their shared dorm giggling about it, rating which boys they'd most like to ask them. (Harry was near the top of the list, though Hermione suspected that was mostly because he was a Champion. Parvati and Lavender generally liked Harry very much, but they'd never shown any particular inclination toward him.)
She didn't begrudge them their fun, but sitting there, listening to them giggle and whisper made her very much feel like the other.
She'd observed them—and other girls—and knew there was some fundamental thing she was missing, some secret language of female friendship no one had ever taught her. She'd tried to relate to Lavender and Parvati, but while she didn't think they were bad people—they could be quite nice at times—on the most basic of levels, she didn't understand them and they didn't get her.
She thought she might be able to find that friendship with Ginny. They hadn't talked much at all the past few years—she'd just been Ron's little sister—but that had started to change this summer. After the horrible night in the forest at the Quidditch World Cup, when Death Eaters engaged in muggle baiting, culminating in someone using Harry's wand to conjure the Dark Mark, Ginny had been anxious. Hermione had woken from a restless sleep that night to find Ginny crying, clearly having a nightmare.
She'd shaken Ginny awake and made her a cup of tea; sitting side by side on Ginny's bunk, teacup trembling in her hand, Ginny had confessed to Hermione that she'd had a nightmare about what she'd done—how she'd almost gotten Hermione, Harry, Colin, Justin and Penelope killed when she was possessed by the diary.
Hermione had wanted to tell Mr. Weasley straight away, but Ginny begged her not to—her parents wanted so badly for Ginny to be okay, and she mostly was. This was the first time she'd had the dream since the summer after it happened, and it was probably just because of the Dark Mark. Against her better judgment Hermione agreed, though she resolved to keep an eye on Ginny thereafter.
And so they had spent a fair amount of time together at the Burrow, and even here at Hogwarts, and she was starting to think that maybe they could have a kinship like Lavender and Parvati's. She didn't have much experience with female friendships, but buying her dress robes and thinking about dates—and everything that came after dates—she couldn't help but wish she had someone her age to talk to who could understand.
Lavender let out a particularly loud giggle and Hermione sighed. She grabbed her Charms notes, stuffing them into her bag, and headed downstairs so she could go to the library and work on the essay that was due before the holidays.
Thankfully, there was silence in the library for once. She found an empty table and got to work, but before long, there was a shadow standing over her.
"Hello," Viktor Krum said. "May I sit?"
She nodded her assent, and they worked in silence, the only sound coming from the scratching of her quill on her parchment. But she found she couldn't concentrate on her essay. There was a tension in the air, an unfamiliar feeling. She got the sense something big was about to happen, but she had no idea what.
"Hermione?" Viktor asked.
"Hmm?"
"Vould you go to the ball vith me?"
She was so shocked she almost dropped her quill. "Me?" she asked, and was horrified to discover it had come out more like a squeak.
Viktor looked confused. "Of course," he said, blushing a bit. "You are the smartest girl here, from vot I can see. You're beautiful and you're sweet. Vy vould I not ask you?"
Hermione felt her face get hot and knew it was bright scarlet. Oh, she was used to being called smart—though usually it came in the form of being told she was a know-it-all—but she'd never in her life been called beautiful by a boy.
Viktor shook his head a bit and looked down. "If I am being honest, vile I do like libraries…" he trailed off before confessing, "I haff come here every day hoping to vork up the courage to talk vith you."
"Me?" Another squeak.
Viktor smiled. "Yes," he said softly. "But you vere usually surrounded by your friends. I'm not surprised a smart, pretty girl like you is so popular though."
She felt a buzzing in her ears, and all in all, she felt a bit dazed. She was so shocked, in fact, that her mind went blank, which was not a particularly common occurrence for her.
"Yes, I'll go!" she blurted, before she even had a chance to think about it. He beamed, and she had a fleeting thought that his face really was quite lovely when he smiled.
Did she want to go with Viktor though? Normally she analyzed decisions—at least thought about them for a second—but this had been an instantaneous reaction brought on by completely foreign territory. They'd really only talked the one time—and while she'd found him intelligent and interesting, she didn't really know him.
But wasn't that the point of a date, after all? To get to know someone?
Besides, she thought, as giddiness started to set in, her dress deserved a real date, someone who wanted to go with her, and not just one of her friends or housemates who asked her as a last resort.
Viktor continued talking—she vaguely heard him say something about meeting in the Great Hall so that he could escort her to the Durmstrang ship for a small reception before the ball—but she was too busy marveling about the fact that she—bushy-haired, formerly-big-teethed, brainiac Hermione Granger—had a real date.
They parted ways not long after—Viktor's fan club had found him—and Hermione felt an irrational need to tell someone. There's no way any of her male friends would offer up the appropriate reaction to this news, but then she thought of Ginny—she would be excited for Hermione.
She'd just started up the staircase when she heard her name being called from behind. She turned and saw Neville rushing up the steps to catch her, balancing a giant parcel in his hands.
"Hey," Hermione said. "What have you got there?"
"It's just some stuff Gran sent me," he said. "Some books and my dress robes. She didn't want to send them to me until it was closer to the ball—thought I'd lose them."
"Oh," Hermione said, not sure what to say. Neville's gran had a habit of underestimating him, but he really did lose things quite a lot. "So you're all ready for the ball then?"
"Mostly," Neville answered, his voice a much higher pitch than usual. "Well—except for—"
He stopped talking and stopped moving, and Hermione followed suit. He looked nervous, and Hermione looked down at the box with his dress robes, and realized what he was going to ask just as he did so.
"Do you want to go to the ball together?" he asked, his face scarlet, refusing to meet her eyes, before quickly adding, "as friends?"
"Oh, Neville, I wish I could," Hermione said apologetically. "But I've already agreed to go with someone. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," he said, his face going back to its usual shade now that he'd asked the question. "I'll just ask…someone else."
They walked back to the common room, Neville chatting amiably about their Charms essay.
She knew Neville had only asked her as a friend, but still, she thought, a bit stunned, two ball invitations in one hour? Who was she and what had she done with Hermione Granger?